


the body, an interruption

by twofrontteethstillcrooked



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Future Fic-ish, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Tropes, UST, is UST even a term people use anymore?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 16:50:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6058768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofrontteethstillcrooked/pseuds/twofrontteethstillcrooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Are you going to be able to run?" Finn asked him. "'Cause we gotta get out of here, like, faster than light."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Poe squinted. Finn's face was close and if either of them tipped forward a smidgen their foreheads would touch, an appealing idea with rotten timing. A scent of smoke was being carried in from points unknown; it was possible the blaring red sirens going off in Poe's mind were actually going off everywhere.</i>
</p>
<p>Or, just another day at the <s>office</s> war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the body, an interruption

"Are you okay?" came out of Poe's mouth before he could think better of it. 

Of course Finn wasn't okay, look at him. Had he arrived via tornado? A gritty gray powder covered most of his hair, hands, face, and whatever the hell scruffed-up clothes he was wearing -- a modified Imperial uniform? Did someone have a mothballed stockpile, or was there a museum curator somewhere missing an exhibit? This was the least striking thing about Finn's appearance: his eyes were huge, his jaw squared, and Poe couldn't guarantee one of the many noises reverberating in his own head wasn't just the sound of Finn grinding his teeth.

"We're getting you out of here," Finn said. He wiped his palms off on a collapsed tarp near Poe and grimaced before looking at him. "In the future, when you replay this moment, pretend I said something more profound or inspirational than that, would you?" He was lifting up Poe's wrists and unwinding something from them, cloth or tape, something sticky and rust stained.

"Sure," Poe said. "I'll aim for Understated Eloquence since you're no question the humblest hero I know." Weird. His voice was wrecked. His unbound wrists itched worse than floater flea welts and he stopped himself from rubbing at them only because he knew from experience it wouldn't help.

"Just a simple ex-Stormtrooper, that's me," Finn grunted. He'd woven one arm behind Poe's back and they were both suddenly standing, Finn with boots planted on solid ground -- or what qualified as such aboard a rickety cargo skiff -- and Poe seemingly melting into a black hole. Finn kept his hands anchored on Poe's hips and the cabin leveled off.

"Are you going to be able to run?" Finn asked him. "'Cause we gotta get out of here, like, faster than light."

Poe squinted. Finn's face was close and if either of them tipped forward a smidgen their foreheads would touch, an appealing idea with rotten timing. A scent of smoke was being carried in from points unknown; it was possible the blaring red sirens going off in Poe's mind were actually going off everywhere.

He meant to answer in the affirmative, or at all, really, but then they were racing out a corridor Poe didn't recognize and sparks were arcing along collapsing ceilings. Metal crunched, the smell of burnt rubber rose up like a wave of nausea. Or vice versa. Finn pulled him by the elbow across a gap between blown out doorways, and Poe caught a glimpse of green earth in the gap, further away than was comforting, grass bent over from the exhaust of two rocking vessels. 

"Can we go?" Pava called from somewhere up front, whichever way constituted front.

"Go," Finn yelled back. A soldier whose name Poe couldn't recollect -- Violet? Velsie? Venndiagram? -- threw the damaged door shut and another soldier helped her secure it. Finn caught Poe around the waist and led him to a medbay barely large enough for the two of them to slump into while the freighter roared higher.

"We jump in three," Pava yelled. "Nice to have you on board, gentlemen."

The grin in her voice was welcome. Poe closed his eyes for a moment. Several moments? When he reopened them, good news, his wrists didn't itch. Bad news, that was because they, and every other body part, felt like he'd been dragged around by a herd of unruly moof, while in the same storm that'd hit Finn. Finn appeared less powdery, having divested most of the curious uniform, undershirt sleeves pushed up, hands, face, and forearms clean.

Poe, glancing down at his own shirt, was bloodier than originally assessed. Also curious.

"Ow," he said, in response to Finn's not overly soothing application of bacta gel to his left eyebrow with a cotton pad.

"Know what? Not even apologizing," Finn said in the testiest voice Poe had ever heard him use outside of one of those sparring sessions with Rey where everyone but Rey ended up limping. "Nope, no, stop smiling."

But Poe was an easy smiler by nature, and Finn's grouchy voice was hilarious. Plus, his grouchy expression was baby tauntaun adorable, minus the oily furry-lizard fragrance. 

Finn did not seem to appreciate this sentiment in the spirit it was intended. He stepped away for a second and came back with another tube of bacta gel. The freighter hiccuped in turbulence and he thumped down sideways next to Poe in an awkward position, steadying both of them with a hand on Poe's shoulder.

The hiss Poe made was involuntary, and Finn yanked his hand away like Poe's shoulder was an open flame. "Sorry," he said, testiness vanished. Poe watched him peel the safety foil off the gel top, Finn's hands trembling just a little. Finn looked at him then and took a long breath. "Sorry," he repeated.

"Me too," Poe said. "I think I forgot to say thank you?" An understatement of galactic magnitudes, to add to the infinite amount of debt due Finn.

Finn's expression showed he wanted to say one thing and was about to say something else instead. "No thanks necessary." He picked up Poe's right wrist and squeezed cold bacta onto it. "You'd have done the same." 

Which, true. 

Poe was aware that scurrying around them on the freighter were a number of tired soldiers who were carrying out duties without interruption: checks on supplies and guns, comm transmissions, someone pinning notes on a holomap. He owed a lot of people thank you's. Pava was relaying an explanation back to base. "Home in five," she said to end. 

The white noise of work thrummed around Poe like a churning sea. He focused on Finn's fingertips smoothing the gel over the burn circling his wrist. 

"Um," Vinnia said -- Vinnia! That was her name! -- standing in front of them. With a sheepish nod she addressed Finn. "Pava wants to know if you want us to, um, delete the transmission we intercepted."

Finn shook his head. "What--"

"The, um, audio," Vinnia said, voice trailing upwards into a question. Her eyes went big and dodged to Poe's face briefly before returning to Finn's. "She's assuming there's no reason to keep it, since we've started researching, uh, the intel?"

"Yes," Finn said. "I concur. Delete it immediately." The grouchy face returned for an instant, before he shook it off. "Thanks, Vinnia."

"You're welcome," she said, darting across to a comm console.

"So that's how you knew," Poe began, and Finn cut him off with a sharp, "Yes."

"I don't," Poe began. Stopped himself. Gathered courage. "If I said anything in there that gave anything away, you need to tell me." Finn was focused on the bacta application process like it required great precision, like it was the only thing standing between Poe's minor injuries and a cybernetic limb. "Please," Poe said.

Finn's eyes, when they met his finally, were bereaved. Only word for it, Poe thought. Fuck.

But Finn said, "You didn't give anything away."

"Okay," Poe said. "But?"

Finn didn't answer. He stood up and rummaged around in an underseat bin until he could work it open far enough to remove one of the Resistance's standard-issue scratchy blankets. He unfurled it around Poe's shoulders. 

"Don't go anywhere," Finn said. 

Poe was going to respond, out loud even. Had a whole slew of delightful quips lined up. Would've charmed Finn to utter pieces. 

He woke up on his base mattress, under his own considerably nicer blanket, the one patched and threadbare in spots and familiar. Upon rolling over his body's protests were more grumblings than outright riots. He encountered an obstacle and was forced to open his eyes. Half the mattress was occupied by Finn, who was scrunching his eyes shut as if against an interrogating spotlight.

Bad imagery, Poe thought.

"How are you feeling?" Finn asked.

"Ready to take on a marathon and a small enemy battalion."

"I'll bet." Finn scrubbed a hand over his face and Poe considered that one of them should move back. Even on his smallish bed there was no particular reason for them to be practically on top of each other. To be honest -- and he could be honest, mutely -- he didn't want to move. He stayed put and attempted to maintain the slightest amount of dignity by not slinging an arm across Finn and burying his face against his collarbone. 

As distraction, he fished around in a junk box in the headboard shelf for a couple of Dentas. He handed one of the purple spheres to Finn and unwrapped one for himself, and they chewed in silence for a minute. These particular Dentas, he regretted to re-experience, tasted like Dressellian prunes to which someone had for no good reason added a lot of salt. They cleaned your teeth and breath but at a terrible cost to your taste buds. 

"No-one's moved your toiletries, you know," Finn said, a note of concern in his tone. "Stars, I am never eating another one of those."

Poe grinned. "I know, they're awful."

"You gonna hop in the refresher?"

"I might gingerly wander into the refresher. In a few minutes."

"Need help?"

"Nah."

"You sure?"

"It's fine."

A stretch of quiet, coppery dawn seeping in under the window shade. Poe listened to Finn breathe and tried to decide what to say.

"You didn't tell them a damn thing," Finn said, voice gentle and fierce.

Poe remembered now. As far as flashbacks went, the last few days had produced a surplus of the kind he wasn't interested in immortalizing. 

"What did you tell them?" he asked. Finn blinked at him. "I don't mean-- To get onboard. It was clear you had A Plan."

Finn snorted. "Doesn't matter. It went sideways approximately instantly." 

"Yeah. That happens a lot."

Another beat of silence.

The old undershirt and drab olive pants Poe wore as pajamas were clean; he had the faintest memory of being helped into them. The burns around his wrists were already almost gone. His left eyebrow itched, but not enough to bother with. His shoulder was a low roar of pain, but not to the extent it would have been screaming had it not been doctored already.

"If you intercepted the, uh, question and answer portion of the evening," Poe said. "What the bounties talked about -- anything we can use?"

Finn looked at him; Poe got the distinct impression Finn was proud of him, somewhere beneath any wanting-to-strangle-him emotions. "None of the previous scouts had mentioned those routes, much less the possible new outpost on Vaal."

Poe pulled a knee up and wiggled, trying to find a side position that would keep his spine from complaining. "I guess there's always a chance they were lying." The bounties had seemed like average sociopath mercenaries, however, who knew there was no reason to lie to someone they were about to kill.

"At any rate, the routes are being checked," Finn said. He straightened up the blanket and made sure they each had equal shares of it. "If they're using Vaal like the Empire did-- Could be nothing, could be something."

"Yeah."

"Jessika says the starfighter was a total loss."

"I figured," Poe said. A shame -- those Umbarans had manufactured some extremely interesting vehicles over the years. Well, he'd have a chance to fly another scrapped one someday. 

"General Organa wants to see you after breakfast."

"Okay."

"And you're on the hook for a bunch of drinks, you know this." Finn crooked an eyebrow. "I'm not proposing you go into hock for a couple of cases of Corellian brandy, but I'm not not proposing it."

"Right, good advice," Poe nodded. The motion made his head feel woobly. Or wobbly. Or both. Drinks would help. "First case goes to Pava, obviously."

"Obviously," Finn said. "And BB-8 -- listen, you know I'm still learning binary, but I'm 98% certain BB-8 said, 'If Poe Dameron leaves me behind one more time, I will make it my mission to ruin that flyboy punk or I swear to the maker...'"

"Sure."

"I mean, you might need to lay on the praise and apologies really thick, promise him you've reformed your treacherous ways, plus some kinda fancy gear upgrade would not go unappreciated, or one of those detailed cleanings with the spit shine and all that? You don't want to take any chances with BB-8, is what I'm saying."

"Uh huh." 

"Has two different tools that make fire." Finn held up two convincing fingers.

"I'm aware."

"Pyro menace. Could make your life a living hell. Not that I would blame him."

"No."

Finn scratched his jaw. "I empathize, you understand."

"As do I." Poe was gratified to hear that, at least to his own ears, his voice had also healed somewhat. His contrition sounded genuine; he should probably consider running for Republican Senator.

"Do you?" Finn's eyes were all that gave him away. Otherwise, he too was the picture of solemn, if prone, sincerity.

"I do."

"That's good."

"Yes."

"What happened to the bounties?" Poe said, since he was an expert at changing the subject. Sort of.

"Dead," Finn said. "Or-- No. Dead." He must have seen something on Poe's face because he put his hand lightly on the back of Poe's head. "I think," he said, and stopped for a small sigh. "I guess I'm supposed to be sorry. I guess I am sorry, that they're dead." His thumb brushed some odd wetness from Poe's cheekbone. "Total lie. Not sorry at all. But I'm sorry I'm not sorry."

"I know," Poe said. His throat felt raw. "Me too."

Even though he needed to roll out of bed, stretch, wash, put on clean real clothing like the professional he was, eat real food, brush his teeth with a normal toothbrush, debrief the General, pledge his unborn children and a lifetime supply of smuggled liquor to his friends and liberators, and get back to work fighting the good fight, for the maker and pity's sakes, no more of this lazing around--

In the dim light Finn's eyes were dark and large and Poe couldn't bring himself to look away. He almost heard you die, Poe thought. He closed his eyes. He shifted closer, because Finn would let him. 

"Getting up in a minute, I promise."

"Poe," Finn said, "we've only been back at base for five hours. You can take at least one more nap before dawn."

"Isn't that sunshine coming through the window?" Poe asked, but it was more of an unintelligible yawn.

Lucky for him Finn was, in fact, very smart, and could translate. "It's just streetlamp haze."

"Hrmmm." Attempting to inject a little levity into his words and possibly not quite succeeding, Poe said, "I'm sorry you had to save me _yet again_."

"Any time," Finn said. "War kinda sucks, huh?" His voice sounded funny too.

"Yep," Poe said. 

"Hey," Finn said, running his hand down Poe's arm.

"Hmm?" 

"I'm sorry they hurt you," Finn said, so softly. 

Everything seemed muffled, with rounded off edges, like gravity was stronger than usual. Poe reached out his left hand and laid his palm against Finn's chest, where the very best heart he knew beat steadily. He meant to answer Finn aloud, he truly did. Maybe Finn understood that. His hand remained on Poe's wrist, a warm, firm weight.

**Author's Note:**

> title's from a slightly altered verse in Traci Brimhall's _Late Novena_ : "...I can tell you the old secrets -- / how an albatross found the ocean floor but had to die / to reach it, or how the soul is exiled to the body, / the body an interruption between shadow and light. / I can whisper that an army buried in the desert will rise again / when the sun dies, or tell you the force tugging / planets towards a star is called longing..." 
> 
> tl;dr i'm bad at titles :)


End file.
